Sweet!
by Lucretia Skelington
Summary: Challenge fic. Lionel's jazzed for his first mission picking up Joseph's tux. But it's ORANGE! Joseph said, staring. Can our favorite head of security survive the shame of it all? Silly fun, rated G.


**_"SWEET!"_**

"It's very important you get this tux. I need a white one."

Mouth open, Lionel bobbed his head up and down and reached inside his jacket to adjust his earpiece volume as the music he was listening to nearly drowned out Mr. Coraza. It was his first real assignment- and from the boss, himself!

"They have my size- just be certain to be back at the palace by 7:45, so I'll have time to change. I only have a few minutes leeway. Got it?" Mr. Coraza stared at him sharply. Lionel nodded faster.

"Yes, sir. Tux, 7:45pm. Got it."

Joseph looked doubtful, but had no choice. He turned to Shades at the surveillance desk. "Alright. I'm going to see the police chief, then help with the training exercises at the gym. Make sure King Gustav and Their Highnesses are picked up in an hour."

"No problem, boss," Shades replied, his eyes not leaving the screen.

Joseph did not leave, but stood there, pensive. "I don't like cutting the times this close. Maybe I should cancel the training session."

Glancing away for a moment, Shades turned his attention to Joseph. "We have it under control- don't worry. Anton and Hans are already at the airport, security for the ball is set, extra staff will be here in half an hour…. Go ahead- what can go wrong?"

Joseph nodded. "I suppose you're right."

The corner of Shade's mouth turned up.

"I'm off, then," Joseph said, grabbing his bag of sparring gear. Under his breath, he added, "Keep an eye on Lionel."

The door closed and Shades looked over to where Lionel stood, waiting expectantly.

"Need something?"

Lionel shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Uh, I thought maybe I could take one of the cars…you know, to get Mr. Coraza's tux."

Shades' mouth twisted. The boss had made it absolutely plain that under penalty of flogging, no one was to issue Lionel a gun; it was only in the past week Coraza let the boy be wired…but without a mike. Coraza hadn't said anything about keys to one of the cars, though. It was an errand in the line of duty, Shades reasoned, and if Lionel screwed up getting the tux, the boss would likely flay the boy alive.

"Yeah, sure."

"Yes!" Lionel bounced up and down on his toes. "Can I take the red Rolls?"

"Get real."

"Bentley?"

Shades stared at Lionel. "No."

"The Merce-"

"No."

There was silence. Finally, Shades sat back in his chair.

"Take the truck."

Lionel started to protest, but stopped. Even the truck had gadgets.

"Ok."

"Be back on time or you find yourself short a couple vital body parts," Shades warned, enjoying the sight of blood draining from Lionel's face. "Mr. Coraza isn't very patient when it comes to security details."

Lionel's head bobbed again in lieu of speaking. He couldn't.

Shades went back to the monitor, changing the view to watch the caterers unload their supplies. Lionel stood unmoved, rooted to the spot.

"Go on, get out of here."

"Yes, sir." Lionel left.

To call it a truck was a bit of a misnomer. The armored Suburban was actually closer to a tank. Trick the thing out with a set of spinner hubcaps, blue lights under the chassis, two huge woofers in the back, along with fuzzy dice on the dashboard, and it would be one _sweet_ ride!

Lionel cranked the music up loud and pondered which route to take to town. There was the direct route, a dull twenty minute drive past nothing but the Royal Forest and sedate, expensive homes. On the other hand, there was the route that went by his old school and past the apartment of the girl he was trying mightily to impress.

It was an easy choice.

Lionel gunned the powerful engine and headed away from town. After all, he had nearly two hours.

* * *

He created quite a stir. He had to drive through the high school parking lot three times to create it, but in the end, a crowd that was there to watch the football game, did gather.

"Oh, I'm out on a mission," he said airily. He slipped a pair of sunglasses on and lounged against the hood of the truck. He quickly moved his arm. The hood was hot. Standing under the hot sun, on asphalt, was making him sweat under his black leather jacket. He wondered how Mr. Coraza did just that and always looked so cool. "Special assignment. Special security vehicle."

A couple of girls 'oohed' appreciatively.

"What's so special about it?" a short kid asked, wrinkling his nose.

Affronted, Lionel stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down on the ignorant child. "Well, you can't shoot through these doors and as for what's in the crates in the back…let's just say it's equipment we security types can't do our jobs without."

Every pair of eyes in the group widened.

The fact that, at present, the back of the Suburban was loaded with water bottles to replenish those kept in the limousines and staff cars made little difference. They were important- get dehydrated and Mr. Coraza would roast you alive over a spit.

"What kind of stereo is that?"

Lionel jerked his head nonchalantly toward the door. A regular THUMP THUMP THUMP came from the bass he'd adjusted to it's maximum setting.

"The best," he replied shortly. Honestly! He was certain he wasn't that stupid last year when he was in school.

"Got a phone in there?" another kid asked.

"Of course- and not just a phone. Look." Lionel flung open the door and climbed up into the driver's seat. The kids crowded around both windows, peering inside.

"Hey! Be careful not to mess up the wax job! Someone has to polish this thing, you know." That someone was Lionel himself and Shades didn't let a single smudge escape his notice. The crowd stepped back.

"This is a GPS," he said pointing to a small screen. "And this is our communications system."

Lionel picked up the mike and pressed a button until the proper numbers glowed red. "Base, this is agent Lionel. Over."

There was static for a moment before Shade's irate voice filled the Suburban's interior and a good bit of the parking lot.

"Lionel! What the hell are you doing playing with the radio?"

"Uh, sir, uh, I was checking the equipment."

"It doesn't need checking! Get your butt to town and pick up Mr. Coraza's tuxedo before you get your sorry behind in trouble! And don't touch the radio again!"

The crowd snorted and laughed.

Mortified, Lionel sat speechless, but for only a moment. "Uh, yes, sir. I'll get that pickup done immediately!"

"You'd better!" There was static again.

Lionel gingerly replaced the microphone. "Well, got to get on with the mission. Our boss it really strict- you heard how he's got the guy working the desk all upset and worried." Lionel laughed, shaking his head. "Poor slob lives in fear of Mr. C-"

"LIONEL!! TURN OFF THE MIKE! WHEN I GET HOLD OF YOU I'M GONNA-"

Lionel hit the 'off' button and cranked the engine. "Gotta go."

The crowd backed away, and Lionel beat a hasty retreat.

* * *

The air conditioner on high, an extra large soda from the local fast-food drive thru, and wild music of Abba cranked to the max did wonders for his nineteen year-old soul, and Lionel was soon back in a fine mood. Next stop, his hoped-to-be-girlfriend's apartment.

Inching his way between the rows of Minis and other cars the size of the Suburban's hood, Lionel found an open space and _squeeeeezed_ the monstrous truck in carefully. He looked up at Kristen's window. No one there. He'd have to get her attention. But how?

He'd have to go up and knock, that's how.

Jammed up against the cars on both sides, he couldn't open either door. He thought he saw movement in the window.

The Surburban's back door- that's where he'd get out!

Snaking his long legs from under the steering column, Lionel crawled toward the middle seat. He pushed with his foot against the steering wheel- and it slipped.

HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK

Frantically, Lionel kicked at the panic button to turn it off, but instead hit the lever that adjusted the steering wheel angle. He suddenly found his left leg up, his body twisted, facing down.

Turning carefully, he sat up as much as possible and reached for the wheel.

There was a tap on the window.

"Lionel? Is that you?" a muffled voice said above the noise.

Kristen! Lionel ran his hand through his shaggy hair then straightened his tie. "Why yes. Just stopped by for a visit," he yelled.

"Lionel? What are you doing?" The girl cupped her hands around her face and pressed close to the glass, trying to see in. She laughed. "Are you stuck?"

"No, not at all," he said, trying to look cool. It was hard to do with your foot hung up in the steering wheel, but he thought he pulled it off rather convincingly.

"Lionel, unlock the door and I'll help," the girl yelled.

"Well, if you want to see our official security vehicle, I guess I can open her up," he yelled back.

He scrunched down, trying to get closer to the wheel. A finger caught, then two. Lionel heaved and dragged himself forward until his nose was nearly touching his knees. His free hand flailed about, trying to reach the door lock or the panic button or release lever- something!

"Lionel, use the key to unlock the door," the girl called out, as if talking to a three-year old.

"Right. Might as well." Unable to get his left hand in his right pocket, Lionel switched hands on the wheel then retrieved the keys. _Click._ The honking stopped. _Click_ the locks popped up.

The door opened all that it could, a scant four inches, and an arm reached in. The steering wheel suddenly dropped; his foot followed. The door slammed shut.

"Thanks," Lionel yelled as he crawled back into the driver's seat. He put the keys in and turned them one notch, then lowered the window.

"Lionel, what are you doing here?"

"Just out on a mission, thought I'd stop by first… just in case." He tucked his shirt back into his pants.

"Just in case what?"

He shrugged in a manly manner and dropped his voice. "Well, since I'm working with the royal security staff, sometimes we agents are involved in dangerous work." He shook his head. "Some don't come back."

Kristen rolled her eyes. "Don't come back from where?"

"Can't tell. Secret."

"Then why did you even come by?"

"To say goodbye… in case I don't."

"Goodbye, Lionel." Kristen began to inch away, between the cars.

"No! Wait!"

"Lionel, I-"

"I want to give you a ride."

"What?"

"A ride … in our official heavy transport vehicle." If Coraza found out…. But, the boss wouldn't. A spin around the park wouldn't hurt anything.

"I don't know. If I do, will you go away?"

"Yes!" he said, thrilled at her acceptance. He was right! She liked him.

"Ok, but just around the block."

"Great! Climb in," Lionel said, lowering the passenger window. "There's a step you can use to hoist yourself up," he added helpfully.

"Why don't you back out, first."

"Could do that, too!"

Breezing along with a pretty girl did wonders for Lionel's ego. One arm draped over the wheel, he settled back in the seat.

"Lionel, where are we going?"

"Park."

"Look, we are _not_ parking somewhere, so don't even _think_ about it!"

"Uh, no, to the Park."

"Lionel, I said around the block. I have to get to work soon."

"Ok, I'll take this shortcut."

"What shortcut?"

"Not many people know about it- isn't used much, really. Cuts right across the park," he said, making a hard left onto a dirt road.

The reason people rarely used it, Lionel found out twenty minutes later, was because it ran across a small creek.

"Not a problem," he said, throwing the truck into low gear. "Four wheel drive. This baby can roll right across a swamp!"

"I think that's exactly what's ahead of us," Kristen said, worried.

Ten minutes later, that's exactly where they found themselves.

Lionel sat looking at the murky water before them, considering. "If we got a running start…"

"No! Lionel, you are going to turn this truck around right now, and take me back. You are going to drop me off at my apartment and drive away, never to come back! Do you understand, Lionel?"

He didn't speak for a few seconds.

"So, would that be a 'maybe' for pizza, Friday?"

Kristen fell back against her seat, hand across her face. "Will you turn around and take me home…._please?_"

Lionel nodded. Maybe this wasn't the right time to ask her out. "Sure. I'll just back this baby up and little we'll be on our way!"

Nearly half an hour later, and with over a hundred and fifty pounds of mud clinging to the Suburban, Lionel pulled to a stop in front of her apartment. Kristen jumped out.

"Say, about that pizza…"

_"Goodbye, Lionel!"_

"Maybe later?" he called.

Kristen disappeared into her apartment and ten seconds later, the shades came down over her windows. He'd ask her out next week, he decided.

* * *

Detour done, Lionel headed to town, his original destination not forgotten. He took up two parking places in front of the menswear shop. The royal plates would stop the constable from giving him a ticket, he was sure.

"Good afternoon, sir. I am Mr. Dubois. How may I help you?"

Lionel squared his shoulders. "I'm one of Mr. Coraza's agents. I'm here to pick up a tux for him."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Coraza!" The man's face lit up. Mr. Coraza was one of his favored customers. "The usual black, sir?"

"No, a bright one," Lionel said firmly. He mustn't mess this up!

"For Mr. Coraza?" the shopkeeper asked doubtfully.

"Yes, that's what he said. It's for tonight's ball. Bright."

"I see. Well…" Mr. Dubois moved to the corner of his shop where he kept the non-traditional suits- the ones High School boys rented when they wanted to stand out among the crowd at school dances.

Taking a deep breath, Dubois placed his hand hopefully on the least offensive of the bunch, a light blue tux with black trim. "Did Mr. Coraza mention a particular color?"

"The brighter the better. Mr. Coraza doesn't do anything halfway," Lionel answered proudly.

"Oh, dear!" Dubois sighed. He couldn't bring himself to suggest the sunburst yellow with red piping, but Lionel could.

"No one would miss him in that!" Lionel said, beaming. If he ever got Kristen to go to a dance with him, _this_ was the tux he wanted!

He shoved the suits apart to get at it.

"Perhaps, sir, the blue would suffice. Mr. Coraza is a man of conservative tastes, normally wearing something more subd-"

_"Wow! Sweet!"_ Lionel stared transfixed at the sight before him. Had it been a coed in the skimpiest of bikinis, his eyes couldn't be any wider.

"Oh, no, sir. Please, not tha-"

"Orange!" Lionel said reverently, his finger tracing the purple lapel.

"Sir, I _beg_ you!"

"He'll take it!"

* * *

"Where _is_ that boy?" Joseph growled, pacing the width of the security office yet again. Most guests had arrived, King Gustav and their Highnesses from Ravenstein had been announced, and in his earpiece, Anton had just informed him that Queen Clarisse was five minutes from making her appearance and was asking for him to meet her at the door as he usually did.

"Sir, you _could_ go see Her Majesty."

"In sweat pants?" Coraza asked pointedly. His underwear and t-shirt were clean, as was his socks in preparation for changing as soon as Lionel arrived. All he needed was his tux.

Hans hesitated to speak again, but he'd never seen his boss so agitated. "Sir, do you have anything in your room-"

"Everything is either dirty or at the cleaners. That's why I needed a tux from the shop. Those stains did not come out."

"The ones from Princess Rotina's lipstick?" Hans asked, laughing. Joseph shot him a look and he tried not to, but ended up snorting, instead.

"Don't remind me," Joseph replied. The elderly woman toddled straight into him, leaving a set of bright red lip marks on his chest. "Is Shades in place? I don't like having these last minute guests- doesn't give us time to check them out."

"Yes, sir. Do you really think there could be a danger?"

Joseph sat on the edge of the desk. "I don't know. Taking chances with the queen's life is…." He rubbed his arm, sore from his earlier workout. "These days, Hans, there's people out there who will go to any length without any regard for those that are hurt."

"That's true. Want me to- hey! There's Lionel now!"

Joseph leaned over to see the security screen. The Suburban skidded through the back gate.

"What is that all over the truck?" Joseph asked.

Hans shrugged. "Looks like mud. A piece of paper stuck in the windshield wipers, too. He got a ticket!"

"Mud? It's only a twenty minute drive to town," Joseph replied. The door flung open and Lionel rushed inside.

"Got the tux- and is it ever sweet!"

Joseph grabbed the suit bag and unzipped it.

Hans motioned to the screen. "What happened to the truck?"

"Oh, uh, a little detour. I'll clean it."

"You're right about that," Hans replied firmly.

Joseph grabbed the suit from the bag and stared. _"What is this_?

"See, I told you it was cool." Lionel grinned. He wiggled his eyebrows knowingly. "Chick's will dig it!"

"It's _orange_!"

"Oh, yeah," Lionel answered dreamily. "Nice, huh! You wanted bright- I got it. Check it out!- purple lapels." Lionel beamed at the two older men.

"I said the _white!_"

"Really?"

"Yes. _White_."

Lionel sucked air through his teeth and shook his head. "That's not white."

Joseph closed his eyes. "Lionel, so help me-"

"Sir, Her Majesty is leaving her apartment," Hans interrupted, fearing the worst. The tux was hideous! "They need you at the door."

"How am I supposed to wear _this_?"

Lionel shrugged. "Like a regular one, but I'd use a different handkerchief than pur-"

Joseph rounded on the boy. "Lionel, I'm going to-"

Hans grabbed Lionel by the collar. "Get outside and clean that truck!" he ordered, dragging him to the door. Just before shoving him through it, he hissed in the boy's ear, "And _DON'T_ show your face until I tell you to- if you want to live, that is!"

The door slammed shut. "Sir, I have a black tux in the closet."

Joseph looked at Hans' bodybuilder, six foot-four inch frame.

"Thank you, but I think it might be just a bit too big for me."

They both looked at the orange monstrosity. Joseph sighed.

Hans cocked his head to the side, listening. "Sir, the queen is-"

"Yes, I heard." He picked up the pants and grit his teeth.

Queen Clarisse floated down the stairs, a vision in soft green. She was particularly anxious to see the look on Joseph's face since she was wearing a dress that a young designer in Paris made especially for her. Clarisse twirled around the corner then stopped, disappointed.

"Where's Joseph?"

Charlotte shook her head. "I'm sure he's on his-"

"I'm here, Your Majesty." Joseph hurried into the foyer then slowed his steps to walk. "I apologize for being late."

The queen's mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.

"There were…circumstances," he added.

_"My word!"_ Clarisse said softly, taking in the orange and purple eyesore that her Head of Security was wearing. She glanced at Charlotte who was just as horrified as she was. Even the footman paled.

"Yes, my attire is a bit out of the ordinary. It, however, serves at the moment. You, as always, look absolutely lovely. Are you ready, Your Majesty?" Joseph asked, chin held high as if he were simply discussing mismatched black socks. He gestured to the door.

"Why, er, yes, I am." Clarisse blinked several times. The orange did not go away. In fact, the purple seemed brighter.

Joseph smiled. "I shall see you on the other side, my queen." He bowed and left to enter the ballroom by a side door.

Elvis, in an orange jumpsuit, would not have created as much a stir as Joseph did upon entering the ballroom.

He nodded cordially to Prime Minister Motaz then took his position up front and to the side, by the door. Behind him, the room grew quiet. His presence signaled the queen's imminent arrival. Motaz stepped closer.

"Nice suit, Coraza," the Prime Minister whispered enviously. "I wish my wife would let me wear something like that!"

"Announcing Her-_gawd_!" The doorman gaped at Joseph then quickly caught himself. "-Her…Her…"

"Majesty," the other doorman whispered.

"Her Majesty, Queen Clarisse." Still staring at Joseph, the doormen swung the doors open.

Trying not to look, but morbid curiosity getting the best of her, Clarisse swept her gaze over his outfit. So, it had _not_ been a dream. She fixed a smile on her face and turned to her guests.

"Thank you, friends of Genovia, for coming tonight and making this a most special occasion. Please dance, enjoy yourselves."

Quickly, conversation began to hum about the room as couples moved to the dance floor; there was certainly someone to discuss tonight!

A smile still on her face, Clarisse gestured. Her Head of Security was at her side in an instant. "Joseph, that is a most…interesting… Well, it certainly…that is…" Clarisse gave up. "Might I ask why you are wearing such a thing?"

"Visibility, ma'am."

"Visibility?"

"Yes. You see, I was concerned that late additions to the guest list did not receive a thorough assessment by the security staff- no, do not be alarmed, Your Majesty. I feel you are quite safe." Joseph's eyes swept the ballroom, even as he spoke to his queen. "This…unusual suit makes security very obvious. It will discourage any rash acts."

"Oh. Oh! I see!" Clarisse took a deep breath. Against all odds, there actually _was_ a reasonable explanation. "You mean you endure wearing this…this _dreadful_ outfit for my benefit and safety?"

Joseph clasped his hands behind his back, his expression grave. "Yes, Your Majesty. It is just for you." He wondered if he should move away from his sovereign, just in case he was struck dead by lightening in return for lying.

Clarisse's expression softened. "Oh, Joseph! Your sacrifice is so touching. It is simply too much!"

"Yes," he agreed under his breath, "it is, isn't it."

"I don't think any queen has had her protector go to such lengths!"

"I'm sure you are quite right, Your Majesty," Joseph answered dryly. "If I may say so, I do not know anyone else who would."

"You are such a dear, _sweet_ friend," she said, touching his cheek gently. "Please, I know it is out of the ordinary, but won't you dance with me, Joseph?"

He smiled and led her to join the other couples then took her in his orange trimmed-in-purple clad arms. "I am at your service, my queen."

_

* * *

Thanks for Athenia for coming up with the challenge! I did not intend for Lionel to play such a big part, but when the boy got in the truck, he just ran off with the story._

_The inspiration for Lionel's musings on how the Surburban should be tricked out and made into a sweet ride comes directly from my 16 year old son who frequently shares such dreams for our old van. He is also crazy over the color orange…orange shirts, orange shoes, orange room… He would, no doubt, like an orange tux. _


End file.
